


so casually brave

by ramathorne



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Fake Marriage, M/M, Mild Blood and Gore, Swearing, Wade's shitty interpretations of greek myth and customs, well sorta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 05:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6552352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramathorne/pseuds/ramathorne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Peter's delight he realizes Deadpool is <i>speechless</i>.</p><p>"Um," Deadpool says.</p><p>"We're <i>engaged</i> now," Peter replies, and as he sweeps his arms out in a wide, dramatic arc, he tosses the apple core into a trash bin that's maybe ten or so blocks away. <i>Bam</i>. "--thanks to you, and the specific chunk of ancient Greece that actually practiced such a bizarre custom. Please take care of me appropriately."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i would give my last dollar away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dear lucy: you are the worst friend. i love u.
> 
> dear everyone else: i am the slowest writer. i am also disgustingly overwhelmed with the Good Feelings you all gave me for my shitty kevin smith quote-stealing fic exercise (thank you). i'll try to legitimately contribute this time.
> 
> all chapter titles are based on the song 'Brother of the Mayor of Bridgewater' by World/Inferno Friendship Society unless stated otherwise

"So," Deadpool starts, draping one arm over his shoulder and sounding entirely too smug, "When should we have our wedding?"

Peter stops eating his apple mid-chew.

"Th'whuht?" he asks.

"The wedding, _lover_ ," Deadpool croons-- which, _weird_ , but Peter doesn't correct him. Mostly because he doesn't know what the hell he's talking about.

"The wedding," Peter echoes. He takes another bite.

"THE _WEDDING_!" Deadpool bellows, and he does this weird windmilling motion with his arms; pinwheels them until they screech to a halt in front of Peter's face. "It's _Greek_ , baby! I'm Paris Hilton, and you're my goddess of love-- no, wait." He tilts his head to the side. "That's probably wrong. I'm gonna go with it anyway."

Then he's silent, and still; probably imagining it in detail.

Peter crunches.

"Yeah," the merc says, dreamily, "That's _hot_ ," and looks wistfully into nothing at all.

"Wedding," Peter reminds him, because he's (unfortunately) used to these tangents by now, and _is_ actually kind of curious about Deadpool's ridiculous reasoning. The man had a knack for awakening morbid curiosity in even the blandest of individuals.

"I THROW THE APPLE AT YOU--" Deadpool booms, in a _pretty_ passable imitation of Thor, if Thor had been gargling rocks beforehand-- and throws his arms into the air. The sunset behind him silhouettes the man's figure as he bounds in front of it. He strikes a coquettish pose, fingers lacing together under his chin; and says, coyly, "--and if you are willing to love me, take it, and share your girlhood with me."

Peter pauses, mouth hovering over his apple.

...The apple Deadpool had tossed to him not one minute ago.

_Ah._

No _wonder_ he'd been practically vibrating with excitement watching him eat earlier, Peter realizes, with chagrin. He honestly hadn't thought anything of it.

\--And, _yeah_ , before anyone even gets started-- Peter is already painfully aware of how wary one should be when accepting things from Deadpool. Most gifts from the merc tended to be a little, ah, _explosive_ \-- (i.e. their first meeting? Did not go well. Peter, to this day, still does not use fountain pens.) --but food had always been generally safe to accept.

Until today, apparently.

Okay. Fine. _Maybe_ he should have been a little more cautious when he noticed the merc had brought him something healthy instead of Taco Bell, or Chipotle, or something else vaguely Mexican. But food's food, alright? And Peter isn't really the kind of guy who's gonna turn down free eats.

Even from Deadpool.

Speaking of Deadpool, the merc is still holding his awkward pose from earlier-- head propped on his fingers, one leg tipped up and his toe pointing to the sky like a classic, swooning princess. Peter would be impressed at his stillness if the other wasn't giving him that smug, expectant look.

He opens his mouth a little wider to tell Deadpool-- well-- _No_. To inform him that the fact that he thought Peter would take him seriously about this stupid, outdated, and most likely poorly researched proposal was ridiculous; to tell Deadpool to, in the most polite way possible, _fuck off_ \--

\--and then he closes it.

Because you know what? Maybe Peter's going about this all wrong. Deadpool's insane, sure-- but he's not _stupid_. There was no way he really believed that Peter would be so dumb as to play into something like this.

Peter's being _messed_ with.

And he doesn't like being messed with.

Okay. Look. Peter's… Peter's in a really good mood, actually. Despite the struggle of keeping both his stomach _and_ his bank account relatively sated, he's been having a pretty freakin' awesome month. He is _so_ on top of everything, you don't even know.

Essay due this week? Already done.

Rent owed this morning? Peter's on that like a fat cat on a balcony.

Plus, due to construction at the main building (he hadn't meant to throw Electro into the Daily Bugle's HQ, he _swears_ ), Peter's been doing most of his workload at home-- which means sleeping whenever he wants-- just as long as he meets his deadlines.

 _Yeah_.

Peter got, like, seven hours of sleep today.

 _Seven_.

That's practically _normal_.

So, yeah. He's _maybe_ feeling a little reckless, a little cocky. And he decides, you know, _why not play along this time_? Why not give Deadpool a taste of his own medicine? If Peter's wit can go toe to toe with Deadpool's puns, there's no reason he can't hold his own in a game of gay chicken. Right?

Right.

That's clearly how this works.

After a moment of loud crunching (he took a bite of his apple at some point, by the way, mostly to watch the merc squirm impatiently), Peter says, "Okay," and waits.

As expected, soon as he opens his mouth Deadpool's already shouting at him, "--BUT IF YOUR THOUGHTS ARE WHAT I PRAY THEY ARE NOT," _clearly_ not listening, probably assumed he's been rejected outright, "THEN--" _Then_ , it processes. "--wait, hold up."

Peter takes another bite.

"Hold up," Deadpool mimes smacking the side of his head, leaning over like he's trying to get water out of his ears. "Run that by me one more time?"

"I said, 'okay'," he repeats, and the merc just. Stares at him.

To Peter's delight he realizes Deadpool is _speechless_.

"Um," Deadpool says.

"We're _engaged_ now," Peter replies, and as he sweeps his arms out in a wide, dramatic arc, he tosses the apple core into a trash bin that's maybe ten or so blocks away. _Bam_. "--thanks to you, and the specific chunk of ancient Greece that actually practiced such a bizarre custom. Please take care of me appropriately."

Deadpool leans in close. From the way his eyes narrow, it seems like the mercenary is attempting to scrutinize just _what_ is going on in Peter's brain through sheer power of will. Or telepathic eye beams. Whichever works first.

"First off," the merc says, slowly, " _Yes_ , totally, gonna hold you to that later-- but we just wanna make sure you really _were_ seduced by my wiles. 'Cause, uh, Yellow's bringing up a good point, and we're kinda wondering… maybe we managed to accidentally find the One True Apple to charm them all? Did we _bewitch_ everyone's favorite web-head? Please say no. Or yes-- either one is good. And by good, we mean bad, but. We can spin either one."

Peter fights to keep the smirk off his face. He doesn't trust himself to talk just yet.

Deadpool doesn't seem to like his silence. "Helloooo?" he asks, waving one gloved hand in his face. "Spidey? Oh god, he's dead. We killed him. ...Or is he in a trance? Hey! Spides, look-- how many fingers are we holding up?" There's a brief pause. "Wait, no-- how many fingers are we fitting _in_?"

Aaaaand now he's making vulgar copulation motions with his hands. Okay. Smirk: Officially terminated.

Peter rolls his eyes instead, which is much easier to hide.

"Where'd you buy the apple?" he asks the merc, voice deadly serious.

Deadpool shrugs, three of his fingers still waggling disturbingly within the 'O' of his other hand's finger and thumb. "I dunno? I stole-- I mean, bought it, with my legitimate, American money, over at that stand on the outside of that park with the bridge. It's by that laundromat with the weird green-colored machines no one seems to trust--"

"--WHAT?!" Peter yells suddenly, clutching at his face in anguish, and has to step on his own feet to make sure he doesn't laugh at how Deadpool leaps, like, a foot into the air. He knows that stand, actually-- makes a note to leave the appropriate amount of change for Mr. Roubanis later.

"WHAT!!" Deadpool yells back, startled.

"You bought an apple from the _one_ part-time love doctor in Manhattan!" Peter wails. "I will never be free of this curse! You've bound me to your soul _forever_!"

"HOLY SHIT!!" Deadpool shouts defensively, his hands stretched out in front of him like he's afraid Peter will jump him at any moment. "I DIDN'T!! I'M-- oh." He puts his hands down. "Oh you're joking, you _fucker_." A beat passes. Then, uncertainly, "...Aren't you? We can't… tell anymore."

Peter stifles his snort into a noise he hopes sounds somewhat noncommittal.

Deadpool gives him that suspicious look again.

 _Oops_. "Uh, hey! Aren't you forgetting something?" Peter points out, hurriedly. "You're supposed to come with me on patrol tonight. It'll be great, one of those. Betrothed bonding. Things. Yeah."

"Uh-uh," Deadpool says, shaking his head vehemently; his hands are still stretched out in front of him like he's gonna have the hellish wrath of God turned upon him any moment now. "No way, Spidey! You're messing with me, right?! Seriously, you gotta _prove_ you're not, like, at least _slightly_ mind controlled or anything. Do you know what the Avengers would _do_ to me if they knew I accidentally love-charmed their baby boy?!"

Peter's actually a little offended by that. Because he's definitely not an Avenger, and he's most definitely not their baby boy, but thanks for rubbing it in his face / infantilizing him.

He takes note of Deadpool's distress regardless. Might come in handy, who knows?

"No time for love, Dr. Jones!" he urges, bounding off his perch. "We gots crime-fightin' to do!"

Deadpool lowers his arms, looking a little annoyed. "Okay," he says, "This is the wrong fic to be using that refereeeaAEHA _HIIEEGHH_ \--"

In an attempt to distract the other man from his moment of weakness Peter sweeps the merc into a bridal carry. Deadpool shrieks, reaches for his katanas instinctively-- and Peter very firmly locks the mercenary's arms against his chest, because, yeah. None of that.

"I'm just practicing," he insists. "I'm the one carrying _you_ over the threshold, right?"

Deadpool makes a weird gurgling noise into his shoulder.

Peter will admit it-- he's kind of enjoying himself. This is the longest he's ever had the upper hand against Deadpool's incessant and obnoxious verbal assault.

"You know, Snooky-pool," he says, "We might be the newest crime-fighting couple in town-- so that means you and I gotta keep it wholesome."

He also adjusts his hold because he's pretty sure the merc just tried to _bite_ at his shoulder for that nickname, what the hell.

"That means leaving any and all love marks in the bedroom where it belongs," Peter scolds, and. Okay. He can't help himself.

He pinches Deadpool's butt.

The mercenary squeaks.

Peter ignores him, taking a step off the building and launching into a swing. "We're gonna start on Fulton Street today, okay pumpkin?" he asks, brightly, taking advantage of the other's stunned silence. "Maybe if you're good, we can take a break and start window shopping for what we want on our registry."

Deadpool jerks in his arms-- like he's finally woken up from whatever brain breakage he was currently experiencing, and regains enough basic motor skills to yell, "WHY THE _FUCK_ ," right in his ear.

Peter's too busy laughing to do anything about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> better work notes in the near future when it is not almost 4 am and i'm not half dead
> 
> edit: who let me post this at 4 in the morning. do you know how many unnecessary dashes i have to clean out of this fic now. shame on you


	2. just to hang out with you one more day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wishes someone had told him that pretending to marry Deadpool made getting him to listen so much easier. Peter would have let him throw apples at him _weeks_ ago if he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to lucy again because they're the worst, comforting my drunk crying ass while i typed up this chapter and sneakily leaving the front door open for ALL OF YOU PEOPLE TO COME BARRELING IN
> 
> WHO EVEN ARE YOU
> 
> THANKS FOR COMING THOUGH

"--He called me ' _snookypool'_ ," Deadpool says to the thug, like he expects this to scandalize him.

"Are you really doing this?" Peter asks. He doesn't mean to break character, like, a half hour into the patrol, but his bemusement is too strong. "Are you _really_ complaining about my choice in pet names to a dude you have in a choke-hold?"

" _And_ he pinched my _butt_ ," Deadpool continues, fiercely ignoring the superhero and tightening his grip.

The man he's choking gurgles and claws at his fists.

"I know, right?!" The merc exclaims, incredulously throwing one arm up into the air. " _Total_ invasion of my personal fuckin' space! It wasn't even something you could play off as a sportsball move 'cause it wasn't a _slap_. Or a bump. Or even that bromo-erotic, sensual cup-the-buttcrack thing baseball guys think they can get away with when no one's looking-- which, _duh_ , those guys are stupid, there are cameras _everywhere._ "

"You know I can hear you," Peter points out. He webs the other two punks involved in the scuffle by their feet-- yanks them subtly so they land flat on their face.

"Downright _lecherous_ ," Deadpool hisses, like the scuttlebutt he's partaking in is with someone who  _isn't_ frantically stabbing him in the arm with a knife.

He is, by the way. Stabbing Deadpool in the arm with a knife.

Repeatedly.

There is blood everywhere.

"You are making such a _mess_ ," Peter grouses. He gathers the other two up quickly, wrapping them up and webbing their spitting, swearing mouths shut. "Besides," he says, "How is that any different than you praising how sexy I am all the time?"

"It's different because I don't _touch_!" Deadpool retorts, sounding completely offended. Then he finally seems to notice that his captive is digging a giant, gaping hole into his _palmaris longus_. "Ooh-- stop that, it tickles."

The mercenary takes the guy's knife hand and twists it sharply with a very neat, unnatural _snap_.

Knife Guy lets go, of course-- starts caterwauling in a high-pitched wail before a gloved hand gets clapped over his entire face.

"As I was saying," Deadpool continues, wrestling the thug back into the headlock he'd had him in earlier, "--praising your ass and _pinching_ your ass-- while alliterate, are two completely different things." He looks down to the smother-ee in his arms with an imploring air. "Aren't they?"

Knife Guy makes a horrible, pained noise.

" _Aren't they_?" Deadpool asks again, dangerously. Blood pulses out around the knife still stuck in his arm-- slow, oozing waves of red dripping down to the concrete.

Tears well up in the corner of Knife Guy's eyes. He jerkily nods his head up and down.

"Oh for--" Peter says, exasperated. "Come on, you already broke his wrist-- quit scaring him."

"I could do a lot more than _scare_ him," Deadpool points out, his tone _so_ fakely chipper. "But we're pals now, 'cause he's completely unbiased and _totally_ agrees with me of his own volition on how much of a creepy _pervert_ you are! Right, buddy? Pal? Bub?"

He shakes the guy in his arms from side to side in a bear hug. Or to be more precise, a hug that resembles a bear shaking its prey in an attempt to break their spine.

Blood spatters the rest of the sidewalk as Peter pinches the bridge of his nose.

This is the part where he's supposed to web the poor guy out of Deadpool's hands. Where he says, 'dude, _enough_.' It's the part of the night where Peter questions ever tolerating Deadpool at all, where he makes a point that the mercenary can't be trusted-- where he's reminded that the merc is too sociopathic and amoral for his new Good Guy schtick to, well-- _stick_.

It's the part where Peter reminds Deadpool he hasn't _changed_. That he's just going to be nothing but a big, murderous disappointment if he doesn't turn his life around. Which is. It's harsh, yeah. But it's _true_.

Peter doesn't do any of that, though. He's trying something different tonight, after all.

When it doesn't seem like Deadpool's going to stop throttling Knife Guy any time soon, Peter takes a step towards him. Slowly. The merc notices-- oh _boy_ does he notice-- and Peter notices _him_ noticing, the way his hackles rise and his whole body seems to puff up like he's making his already ridiculous body even _bigger_.

"What's up, Bridester-Man?" Deadpool teases, and even though his eyes narrow, even though the cheer in his voice becomes _that_ much more superficial, he stands his ground-- waits for Peter to make a move.

But with every step Peter takes, the harder Deadpool's voice becomes.

"What-- you gonna break up with me over a lil' limp-wrist?" he says. He flops Knife Guy's arm around a little-- tightens his grip on the thug's face when he starts to scream again, so tight the leather of his gloves _creak_. "What a shame. What was that thing Madrox was saying on his _noir_ kick? Oh, yeah--" he leers. " _Everyone's got a little bit of that_. Right? But look at you-- bein' all prejudiced and shit."

Peter doesn't respond to any of that. Not out loud, anyway. He reaches out, instead, and gently lets his own hands rest on top of Deadpool's arms.

He hears the merc draw in a sharp breath.

Pointedly, Peter reigns in his sticking powers and lets his fingers slide over the leather and fabric. He smooths his thumbs out over the kevlar to show he's not trying to pry the mercenary's arms apart-- shows Deadpool that he's just... touching him.

Deadpool tenses so fast Peter practically sees his muscles ripple with the effort.

He is-- maybe stupidly-- not that worried about the reaction. In fact, he has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Has to bite _harder_ when he sees Deadpool's gaze flicker down briefly at the motion under his mask. Watches him swallow audibly and smothers his grin.

"Um," the merc mumbles, clearly unnerved-- and probably a little grossed out, if the way he's recoiling is any suggestion-- and _god,_ Peter wants to laugh _so_ _bad_ , you don't even know.

He takes a couple breaths, and once he's sure he's stomped out the urge to, he whispers, choking on his own words to overplay the betrayal-- "I can't believe you'd doubt the sincerity of my affections for you like that, darling."

"Oh my fuck," Deadpool says.

"Do you really think I could hold myself back after you captured my heart in such a manner?" Peter sniffles tearfully. "I'm sorry. I'll try to keep my hands to myself in the future, despite what a _hardship_ it will be, but please… don't take it out on the innocent."

"Oh my _fuck,_ " Deadpool repeats, his voice strained. He lets go.

Peter gladly takes the shaking mess of a punk and leads him over to the other two troublemakers. All three of them are strangely silent-- but that might be because of the webbing. Or the uh, fine mist of blood coating the entirety of their fronts. He doesn't blame them-- there always was a kind of mind-numbing terror that accompanied being spritzed with _eau de Deadpool_. Peter's just lucky he's used to it.

"I'm going to help these two schmucks stand," he informs Knife Guy, "And then all of you have ten minutes to hobble on over to the nearest precinct."

Knife Guy does that jerky nod thing again.

"And you're not gonna ditch on this--" Peter says, cheerfully, "--'cause if you do, it means my fiancé here's gonna get _real_ cross with you. You wouldn't like him when he's all cross and stuff."

The word _fiancé_ causes a strange, strangled noise to emit from somewhere behind him. Peter ducks his head at the sound-- plays it off like he's appraising the punks and not trying his damn hardest to keep from snorting unattractively.

Meanwhile, Knife Guy's Keep-It-Togetherness has devolved from frantic head bobbing into straight up blubbering territory. Peter takes pity on him-- helps his 'friends' up and fashions him a makeshift splint out of his webs-- _anything_ to get him to stop making that awful hiccuping noise, holy _crap_ it's sad.

The three of them limp away. Peter watches them go for a couple blocks, with his hands on his hips. Then he turns to Deadpool, who-- from what Peter can tell-- is gaping like a fish.

"I think that went well," he quips. "Don't you?"

The merc shakes himself free of his funk so vigorously Peter mentally adds the 'dog shake' sound effect to it in his head.

"You," Deadpool starts, and fails to say anything. He grasps the knife still stuck in his arm and viciously _yanks_ it out instead. "You… you."

"Me," Peter agrees. He pauses a moment. "...Did you really refer to me as 'Bridester'?"

Deadpool's chest heaves and he lets out a faint, slightly hysterical laugh. "What," he asks, feebly, "You don't like that?"

"I assumed I'd be Spider-Groom."

"Bull _shit_ ," the merc objects immediately, pointing the bloody knife at him. "I threw the apple. I'm the one wearing the pants."

"You're also the one who's fought a gun-touting monkey in a frilly maid outfit," Peter counters. "If you're gonna be all, 'follow societal norms to the letter', here."

"I only did that _one_ time!" the merc protests.

Peter cocks a hip and crosses his arms, waiting.

"...With you," Deadpool amends grumpily, ignoring Peter's triumphant  _'Ha!'_ "I've done that _one_ time with _you_. Anyway, that's not the point. Bridester-Man rolls off the tongue _way_ better than Spider-Groom."

"Spider-Groom is more conventional," Peter retaliates. "I'm a spider. Also," he spreads his arms, "--a groom. It's simple, it works-- Bridester-Man's kinda trashy, sorry. Don't get mad-- get glad."

"Groompool," Deadpool mutters sullenly, wiping the blood off of his arm.

"Brideypool," Peter supplies, helpfully.

" _Deadgroom_ ," Deadpool says over him, louder. "De- _groom_ -edpool."

The superhero rolls his eyes-- webs himself up someplace high to figure out where their next stakeout spot should be. "'Wedded Wilson'," he calls down, once the inspiration strikes him. "No, wait-- 'The Smirk With a Spouse'."

"God _damn_ it," Deadpool whines. "Why you gotta make it fuckin' _cute_?"

"Only the cutest for my _sweetums_ ," Peter simpers.

He grins to himself when he hears the choking, gagging noises coming from the merc below.

"C'mon," he says, noting their position and dropping a web rope for the other. "We're burning moonlight, here."

There's a beat of silence. Against his better judgement, for a moment, Peter actually thinks the merc's left-- got fed up with the teasing and whatnot. He checks over the side of the building, though, and Deadpool's still there-- just. He's staring at the rope like he's not sure if he should take it or not.

Peter wonders if _he's_ the one that's going to be told to fuck off, tonight. Wonders a little _less_ about why he might be vaguely disappointed if that happened-- if only because he shoves that particular train of thought out of his brain as fast as possible.

To his mild surprise, the merc reaches out and grabs at the rope Peter's dangling. He winds the web around his fist and tugs.

"If you keep up with this hot and cold shit I'm gonna start singing Katy Perry," Deadpool threatens, as Peter pulls him up. "I'll fucking do it, don't test me."

"God, please don't," Peter says. It's the most genuine he's been all night.

 

* * *

 

He wishes someone had told him that pretending to marry Deadpool made getting him to listen _so_ much easier. Peter would have let him throw apples at him _weeks_ ago if he knew.

Because Deadpool _is_ listening to him. It's kind of amazing, actually.

He even puts his swords away when Peter asks him to, and he _never_ does that. He always insists, _it's just the blunt edges, look, I flipped 'em over,_ and then proceeds to stab someone in the stomach on 'accident'. This time-- when they're confronting a couple of muggers and Peter says, "Swords in their scabbards, _dear_ ," all he gets is some intense, closed-mouth screaming, and the distinct _chikt_ of blades being set back in place.

Peter is in such shock when it happens that he stops  _moving_ and the guy he was fighting socks him in the jaw.

So, yeah.

Maybe it's got its ups and downs (Ups: No meaningless stab wounds left in civilians. Downs: Peter has one hell of a bruise under his chin), but overall, it's been a significant step forward in the mercenary's slow climb to Semi-Decent-Person-dom.

Which is why when he says, "Good job tonight, Wade," it's not with the smug air he's been ordering him around with all night. It's _sincere._ Maybe even a little more sincere than Peter meant for it to be, but he doesn't try to backtrack, or anything. He probably deserves it-- at least for tonight.

Deadpool notices _that_ , too. At least, Peter thinks he does. After the superhero speaks the merc stares at him for a full minute, his hand mechanically re-doing the same knot in his rope over and over.

"Are you going to turn yourself in, too?" Peter prompts, when he sees that Deadpool is basically tying his hands together above their captured thief's crotch. The thief, unsurprisingly, seems less than thrilled about it.

"Wha?" Deadpool says, intelligently, and then looks down. "Oh, shitting _dick_ nipples."

"That's an old one."

"Maybe  _I did it for the lulz_ ," the merc deadpans.

Peter makes a face. "Okay," he says, "I'll let that one go since you're obviously flustered. You don't have to keep acting like I'm gonna take back what I said earlier, you know."

Deadpool's back stiffens.

"You did a good job tonight," Peter insists, gently. "If you just did what you did tonight _every_ night, I really--"

"Bite me, Spidey," the merc says, the manic cheer edging his voice his personal signal to _drop it_. He starts cutting at the rope with the blade he'd been so graciously gifted with by Knife Guy.

Peter scowls.

"Hold still," Deadpool tells the thief, who's started screaming a little bit about the sharp object _millimeters from his crotch_ , and even though Peter gives him this meaningful look, it's lost on the back of the merc's head.

So he waits.

One breath. Two.

When he's pretty sure that the civilian isn't going to get anything sliced off, he says, conversationally, "Well, as long as you asked me _nicely,_ I would. The love-marking thing's a two-way street, after all."

Deadpool's head snaps around so fast he looks like he might _break_ it. The knife, on the other hand, goes _shunk_.

"Darling," Peter says, feigning horror, "Were those your  _fingers_?"

"Oh, look at that!" Deadpool says, a bit hysterically, holding up what's left of his index and middle digits and scrambling to his feet. Blood splutters out all over Thief Guy's front, whose muffled screaming has upgraded from _mild discomfort in the presence of a known murderer_ to _there are the wrong kinds of bodily fluid spraying all over my nuts and I really, really don't like it_. "Clumsy me, guess that's my cue to get that manicure I've been meaning to get ever since I got to New York."

"Or as we like to call it," Peter gleefully points out, " _The Big Apple_."

 _"My cuticles are always much easier to work with when they've been freshly healed!_ " Deadpool shrills, backing towards the other side of the building. "Holy _FUCK!_ Everyone's all tied up, right?! All nice and cozy in their criminal cocoons? Okay. Cool. _Bye!_ "

As the merc jumps very unsubtly off the edge of their four-story perch, Peter calls out, "Don't let me keep you waiting, Brideypool!"

Which-- he doesn't get a response at that, just the wet _crunch_ of a body hitting asphalt. He's actually kind of impressed. Peter gives the blood-covered, vehement Thief Guy a consoling pat before hanging him over the side of the building with the rest of their haul.

There's still no witty retort by the time he's ready to leave for the night, but he can still hear the merc grumbling somewhere in the alleyway adjacent to him.

Projecting his voice, Peter remarks, offhandedly, "I sure hope Deadpool takes me with him next time. It'd be _so_ romantic."

"Oh my _FUCK_ ," Deadpool yells.

"I know a great place we could probably get a couple's discount," he continues, unable to keep the shit-eating grin off his face.

The resulting expletives he's pelted with keep him nice and warm on the swing home.


	3. can't pretend to know how you had it (alternatively, spideypool the movie: deadpool strikes back)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You--!" he splutters, heart racing. "I-- you're--! Why?! Ten seconds for why!"
> 
> Instead of a cohesively formed answer to Peter's (very) cohesively formed question, Deadpool goes very, very still-- his highly-trained, professional skills focusing in on the important details of their situation.
> 
> "Holy FUCK, WERE YOU IN THE _SHOWER_ ?" he yells, voice muffled through the damp fluff of Peter's bath towel. "ARE YOU _NAKED_ RIGHT NOW??"
> 
> "TEN SECONDS!!" Peter screams, and his voice maybe cracks a little at the end of it-- which he'll be properly embarrassed about _later_. Right now, he's kind of preoccupied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so i know i said i write slow, but i also was out of town for a while. (also also, civil war.)
> 
> thanks for stopping by and leaving all that wonderful feedback. no, seriously. thanks. THANK YOU. I DONT KNOW WHY YOU'RE DOING IT, BUT THANKS.

Peter's life has been pretty lax since that last patrol, actually. Relatively peaceful, as far as a bustling city like New York can be-- and before he knows it, the better half of a week passes without incident.

He figures Deadpool's left town-- either for a job, or to lick his Very Heterosexual wounds clean,  he doesn't really care which. And despite all the stuff that happened, their last meeting had ended on a relatively _good_ note, so there wasn't really a reason for Peter to suspect the mercenary to be secretly hunting him down, or anything.

Which is why when he steps out of his bathroom at around two in the morning, freshly showered and most definitely  _not_ costumed (or clothed, for that matter), he's not expecting to see said mercenary crawling in through his apartment window.

"Yo!" Deadpool says, momentarily distracted with peeling a stray sock off of the bottom of his boot as Peter's body decides to have a minor panic attack in the middle of the hallway. "Is that you, Spides? Good timing, I  _just_ closed and locked your window-- which, you're welcome, by the way, think a good lookin' guy like you would have learned toOEEIIYIAAGHH--"

Before he gets a chance to look up, Peter leaps from the bathroom door, pins Deadpool to the throw rug, and wraps his towel around the other's face-- all in the span of three seconds. Thank _you_ , spider reflexes.

"You--!" he splutters, heart racing. "I-- you're--! Why?! Ten seconds for why!"

Instead of a cohesively formed answer to Peter's (very) cohesively formed question, Deadpool goes very, very still-- his highly-trained, professional skills focusing in on the important details of their situation.

"Holy FUCK, WERE YOU IN THE _SHOWER?_ " he yells, voice muffled through the damp fluff of Peter's bath towel. "ARE YOU _NAKED_ RIGHT NOW??"

"TEN SECONDS!!" Peter screams, and his voice maybe cracks a little at the end of it-- which he'll be properly embarrassed about _later_. Right now, he's kind of preoccupied.

"Excuse _you_ ," Deadpool growls, "In the spirit of democracy, I petition to devote the rest of my _segundos_ towards us discussing if those really are _your_ damp, _naked_ legs clamped powerfully around my midsection right noOWHHGH--"

He wheezes as Peter grips him by the throat.

"Five," he warns, his fingers tightening.

" _Choking_ \--!"

"Four--"

"--oh I'm gonna pop," the mercenary gasps, clawing at Peter's hand--

" _Three--_ "

"No, like--" Deadpool tries to explain, sounding a little desperate, "A boner-- I'm gonna pop a--"

"Tw-- oh my _GOD_ ," Peter says, disgust etched in every syllable. He throttles the other a little before he rips his hands away. "DEADPOOL!"

As soon as he's released, the mercenary rolls onto his stomach with a feeble groan. "Holy flaming Nazis," he rasps. "That's a wrap, Spider-Tarantino."

"Deadpool," Peter says, dangerously.

"Although I _am_ inclined to point out we'd have to do it again, since neither of us were appropriately dressed," he mumbles out through the towel, face down in Peter's scratched up hardwood floor.

"The Tarantino-Kruger scene was one take only," Peter reminds, proving once again that he can't let a reference go unanswered even when he's basically _seething_ in fury. "And that still doesn't explain why you're in my--" He cuts off in favor of slamming a hand down _hard_ on the towel corner Deadpool is trying to surreptitiously lift with his pinky. "DON'T EVEN!"

"But are you--"

"YES, ALRIGHT?" Peter shouts. "I'M _NAKED_!"

"--Just checking," Deadpool says. Even with two layers of fabric wrapped around his head Peter can tell he's grinning from ear to ear, what the _hell_.

"That's it," he says, forcefully ignoring the blush rising on his skin. "That's _it_! I don't care why you're here, but you are _out_."

"Aww, baby," Deadpool croons, "Don't be shy. OW! Okay, be a little shyer--"

"Back whence you came, chumples!" Peter snaps, none too gently yanking the merc around. "You're gonna learn how a spider defenestrates!"

"Kinky!" Deadpool quips, and then yelps when he's grabbed around the ankles. "Oh," he laughs, scrabbling frantically for something to hold onto, "You meant  _t_ _hat_ kind of defenestrating."

"You know that word!" Peter objects. He drags him (and the couch, which the merc's apparently grappled) halfway across the living room. "You used it the first time we _met!_ "

"Dude, that was like, fifty issues ago!" Deadpool protests, holding desperately onto the leg of the sofa. "How do you remember shit like that, anyway?!"

"I tend to remember when people tackle me through windows with _rocket boots_ ," Peter remarks, dryly.

"Because it was _fun,_ right?" the merc asks, hopefully.

"No." Peter says. He kicks the other's fingers free of the couch.

"Wait-- waitwaitwait," Deadpool rushes out. He yowls a little when Peter grabs him by the scruff of his neck and lifts him effortlessly-- his arms flailing out and catching around the nearest corner he can find. " _WAIT!_ "

"Get _off_ of that!" Peter growls, shaking him roughly in an attempt to dislodge him.

"As much as I-- ow-- appreciate you cracking _every single joint in my body_ , I-- look-- HEY!!" Deadpool bellows, yanking him forward so he can shout in his face.

"WHAT?!" Peter yells back.

"I made you a present," he declares, voice patient and calm like he hadn't just spent the last minute _clinging_ to Peter's wall like a mentally unstable octopus. Using his height to his advantage, the merc sweeps a leg across the floor and drags out a pizza box with his foot.

Silence ticks between them.

"Ordering a pizza doesn't count as making it," Peter points out. "You know that, right?"

"A pizza present it is _not,_ " Deadpool corrects, in his best Yoda impression. Current situation aside, it's pretty good. "But nice try. The present is _inside_ the box. It just happened to be the cleanest box I had on hand." Which, honestly? Says all kinds of things about Deadpool's living space that Peter doesn't really want to think about.

"If it's a bomb," Peter threatens, his voice low-- and the mercenary straight up _balks,_ like his concern is completely unfounded, or something.

"What? God-- _no_ , Spidey, who the fuck do you take me for-- okay, do not," he says, backtracking quickly like he can see the face Peter's making through the towel. Which he _better_ not be able to see through, or Peter's going to slingshot him the _fwip_ out his window, chaotic alignment shift be damned. "Do not answer that."

"Good call."

"Besides," Deadpool adds, "If this had been a bomb I'd have had it ready for you  _hella_ days ago."

"For the love of god, don't use west coast colloquialisms like you're hip," Peter grumbles, and pokes at the boxed offering with a wary toe. "Is it alive? _Was_ it alive, at any point? Please say no."

"Fuckin' shit, _no_. Can I take the towel off?" Deadpool asks, still clutching the item in question around his face. "I wanna see your face-- uh, mask-- mask-face-- face-mask? When you open it."

Peter looks down and belatedly remembers that he is _naked_.

Not just face naked, but like. _Everything_ naked.

"On a related note, the fact that I'm smelling cheap store-brand shower gel on this towel is _entirely_ offensive." Deadpool remarks, as Peter drops him to the floor and surreptitiously trips over _every single piece of furniture he owns_ on his quest to put some freaking clothes on. "Can you really not afford the extra, what-- buck-fifty for a bottle of Old Spice? I bet there are tons of your adoring fans out there who'd chip in to get a whiff of a _Spicy Spidey Breeze_ as you swung by."

"Why didn't I think of that?!" Peter gasps irritably as he jumps his way into a pair of flannels and a frayed, baggy t-shirt. "Let's get a kickstarter going. _Clearly_ my priorities have not been in order."

"Fuck _you_ , man. It just doesn't seem right that a guy that saves New York from various flavors of ' _Old Guy Compensates for Shriveling, Decrepit Junk With Cool Technology'_ has to bathe himself in--" he sniffs. "--Rainforest Fresh?"

Peter regrets the lack of slingshotting so much already. "I'm not going to ask how and why you can differentiate the scents between basic store-brand body washes." he says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Aw, _c'mon_ ," Deadpool cajoles, still clutching at the towel when Peter pulls his mask on and walks back into the room. "Swear to fuck, if you said you'd endorse Old Spice in a commercial they'd stock you up for _life_. Look to your man. Now back at me. Now back at your man-- now back to me. I'm made of spiders. Ow!"

Peter none too gently yanks the towel off Deadpool's head. "What's in your hand?" he baits.

"--Back to me," the merc intones, holding up the pizza box. " _I_ have it."

Peter rolls his eyes and-- to his horror-- has to fight the urge to smile.

"Open it," Deadpool coaxes him.

Peter slowly takes the box, even though he's still mostly convinced it's a bomb. He sits down on the relocated couch, glaring at Deadpool all the while-- making sure that the merc shows no intention of fleeing the scene.

"Openitopenitopenit--YES!" he cheers, pumping both fists into the air as Peter finally gives in and lifts the lid.

He stares into the box.

Then he blinks a few times, because he's not quite sure if he's seeing what he's _actually_ seeing.

"Oh my god," he says.

"Do you like it?" Deadpool asks, clapping his hands together in delight. "I wasn't sure if I should have gone with the six stitch ruffle or the twelve stitch for the top half," the merc admits, leaping up from his cross-legged position on the floor and settling himself against Peter's side in one fluid motion. "Kinda popped my Ruffle Cherry on this for you, I hope you're happy."

"Oh my _god_ ," Peter repeats, his voice strangled in his throat.

"God, they're fuckin' _perfect_ , right?" the mercenary gushes. "Really gonna accentuate your hips, I think. _So_ glad your complexion's dark enough to pull off using pure white, bee-tee-dubs, White kept insisting you'd get all washed out with anything lighter than ivory, but--"

"--You sewed me a costume," he says, gingerly holding the outfit up by the shoulders and lifting it out of the box. "You sewed me a-- a _wedding costume_?"

"It came out so well, too," Deadpool says, tearfully. "Vera Wang, eat your fuckin' heart out. I'd _totes_ make a killing in the super-matrimonial fashion scene-- wouldn't even be _literal_ , for once--"

"--Dude, are these poots?" Peter asks a little hysterically, as he holds up one of the heels attached to a laced, sheer legging. "Are these stiletto-heeled _poots?_ "

"Excuse you, Spidey," Deadpool admonishes, sounding genuinely insulted. "The proper term is _boot pants_."

"Oh my god," Peter repeats. He doesn't process the chastising. Actually, he doesn't even really process the fact that Deadpool is even _talking_ right now because _what the everloving fwip_.

"Don't you _like_ it, lover?" Deadpool coos. "Say something, won't you?"

"I'll say _somethin'_ , all right," Peter chokes out.

"Why? Do you...  _not_ like it?" the mercenary asks, concern knitting into his browline. "But I worked so _hard_ on it, just for you."

That's the statement that gets the cogs in Peter's head turning again.

" _Oh,_ " he says, willing his voice to come down a few octaves. It doesn't.

"I wanted it to be special! You know, because we're so _serious_ about each other." Deadpool coos. The syrupy tone to his voice does absolutely nothing to soften the hard, brittle leer he's leveling at Peter.

Now that the shock's (mostly) worn off, the mercenary's plan starts to click into place.

From what Peter can understand-- Deadpool is trying to get him to call the joke off. He's trying to get Peter to say uncle by going above and beyond the curve of their regular pranking repertoire.

Which, gross, they kind of do have a regular repertoire, don't they.

Anyway.

Deadpool sneaking into his apartment and gifting him with a handmade bridal costume channeling the Lil' Kim 90's aesthetic-- _just_ to get him to back out-- feels a lot like an overreaction. Like calling someone's bluff by going all-in on the flop. And if Peter was to go about it as any person with an iota of common sense would, he'd fold, _of course_. Which is what Deadpool thinks he's going to do.

No-- it's what Deadpool _knows_ he'd do.

It's all kind of ingenious, actually. Peter will give him that. Deadpool's a pretty smart and competent guy when he wants to be. It's too bad the only time it really seems to show is when he's desperately trying to one-up someone-- protecting his well-earned ' _King of Douchebag Mountain_ ' title with tooth, nail... and sewing machine, apparently.

The worst part is, just like how Deadpool knows that any sane person would quit the charade right _here_ , Peter knows that if he gives the ghost up now, he'll never be able to one-up Deadpool again. Like, _ever_. If he doesn't fight back on this, he has the sneaking suspicion that the merc's obnoxiousness will be unstoppable. It could never, and _will_ never-- be tamed again. Which is just. Not something Peter's ready to let go of yet.

...He kind of liked having the merc listen to him for once. Sue him.

"I mean," Deadpool continues, with this shit-eating, expectant grin-- probably thinking Peter's still stunned into silence-- "I understand if you want me to pull back, a little. I just love you _so_ much, Spidey-bride. I didn't trust anyone else to make something for you that was functional _and_ formal, you dig?"

"Totally," Peter says, trying to affect the sarcasm in his voice into something more enthusiastic. "Your thoughtfulness knows no bounds, _Snookypool_."

The corner of Deadpool's eyehole twitches.

Peter grins back with all his teeth.

Scowling, Deadpool whispers, "Why, thank you, Spider-Dear," and dips his head into his personal space like a challenge.

Peter valiantly does _not_ gag as warm, stale guac-breath assaults his nostrils.

"You know all I really want for you is to make sure you feel _comfortable_ ," Deadpool goads him. "Why don't you… try it on for me? Make sure everything fits nice and--" here, he looks meaningfully at Peter's crotch. "-- _snug_."

 _Hell_ no.

"But _Dear_ pool!" Peter murmurs, quickly leaning into the merc's rigidly tense body and clutching his hands together over his heart. At the nickname, Deadpool's face goes completely _blank_ and Peter has this terrifying moment where he has to wrestle the ugly bark of laughter in his throat into something more like a fragile tittering.

_Stay in character, Parker!_

"Before the wedding?" he sighs. "How _scandalous._ "

"You know us," Deadpool grits out, with his fists clenched and his teeth grinding on every word. "Flipping the bird to _societal norms_ , and stuff like that."

"If you're worried about it fitting," Peter points out, his tone adoringly _accusatory_ , "All of the measurements look disturbingly _spot on_."

"But of course," Deadpool sneers. "What kind of _husband_ would I be if I didn't know my baby boy's measurements?"

"You'd be kind of a _pervy dick_ ," Peter says, sweetly. _If you think you're going to win at this,_  he thinks at him, _You are so very wrong. I will end you._

The glare Deadpool shoots right back at him seems to share the sentiment. "Ha- _tcha_ ," he hisses playfully, popping a couple of finger guns. "Speaking of pervy dicks," he adds on, standing up, "I gotta go see a client. Gonna collect that _cold hard cash_ for my succulent Spider-Wife!" he singsongs.

"Hopefully not from a _cold, hard body_."

Deadpool sucks air in through his teeth. "Oooh," he says, genuinely sympathetic.

"I regret that," Peter says, shutting his eyes and willing the world to go away. "I regret that so much."

"Not worth it. I'll let it go, babe."

"You're so _sweet_ ," Peter says. The fakeness is palpable, but the relief is real. "No killing?"

"No killing," the mercenary confirms, and Peter feels inclined to believe him, despite the sudden, hard edge to his voice. "Don't wait up for me, okay?"  he taunts, backing away. "And no wearing the outfit when I'm not around to see-- 'cause I know how much you _loved it_ , and all."

Incredible. He goes from slightly endearing to _beyond_ insufferable in the span of two seconds. "It's great!" Peter snaps, hotly. "I _do_ love it! Can't wait to show it off to everyone!"

"That'd make my _fuckin' day_ , Spidey!" Deadpool snarls back, gleefully.

"I'm sure it _would!_ " Peter screams.

"IT DEFINITELY WOULD!" Deadpool roars, and then disappears, clanking his way down the fire escape.

" _Asshole!_ " Peter hisses, once he thinks the other is out of earshot.

"What was that?" the merc asks, poking his head back into the apartment.

Peter jumps. "What?" he blurts, before he can regain his composure. "What was what? Nothing. No. S'all good." He leans casually against the arm of the couch. "You forget something?"

"I was gonna ask if you could toss a web down for me," Deadpool says, gesturing towards the street. "Since you live so high up, and all-- would be _way_ convenient."

Peter pauses.

"You need to get somewhere fast?" he asks, carefully neutral.

"Yeah, dude," Deadpool says, impatiently. "I'm kinda in a hurry."

"--I think I have a better idea." Peter says, brightly.

 

* * *

 

"THIS QUALIFIES AS DOMESTIC ABUUUUuuuussseeee…!" Deadpool yells, as he's catapulted out of the slingshot web.

Peter turns around from the open window and very decidedly does _not_ pump his fist into the air when he hears the faint _SPLOOSH_ of the merc landing in the community pool a few hundred meters away.

He waits until he's googled the Instant _YEAH!_ button from _CSI: Miami_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also: if you guys want to drop by and say hi, i have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/r4mathorne) i update sometimes when i delude myself into thinking i'm funny. also i draw stuff occasionally?? its nothing special right now. im trying to train myself into posting on it more often, so hopefully you will see more snippets and bad art on there soon.
> 
> you could also say hi on my personal (linked through there) but that all that one does is definitely confirm the fact that i am drunk gaming meme trash.
> 
> until next time


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